Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/135

 As pictures charm an eye inflamed and blear, As music gratifies an ulcered ear.
 * Unless the vessel whence we drink is pure,

Whate'er is poured therein turns foul, be sure. Make light of pleasure: pleasure bought with pain Yields little profit, but much more of bane. The miser's always needy: draw a line Within whose bound your wishes to confine. His neighbour's fatness makes the envious lean: No tyrant e'er devised a pang so keen. Who governs not his wrath will wish undone The deeds he did "when the rash mood was on." Wrath is a short-lived madness: curb and bit Your mind: 'twill rule you, if you rule not it
 * While the colt's mouth is soft, the trainer's skill

Moulds it to follow at the rider's will. Soon as the whelp can bay the deer's stuffed skin, He takes the woods, and swells the hunters' din. Now, while your system's plastic, ope each pore; Now seek wise friends, and drink in all their lore: The smell that's first imparted will adhere To seasoned jars through many an after year.
 * But if you lag behind or head me far,

Don't think I mean to mend my pace, or mar; In my own jog-trot fashion on I go, Not vying with the swift, not waiting for the slow.